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sub-titles fill two lines of a book of reference. He has grown

gray in the service, is a gentleman, a favoured guest in the most

exalted houses, and, above all, a man whose patriotism is beyond

suspicion. He is one of two who have a key of the safe. I may

add that the papers were undoubtedly in the office during working

hours on Monday, and that Sir James left for London about three

o'clock taking his key with him. He was at the house of Admiral

Sinclair at Barclay Square during the whole of the evening when

this incident occurred."

"Has the fact been verified?"

"Yes; his brother, Colonel Valentine Walter, has testified to his

departure from Woolwich, and Admiral Sinclair to his arrival in

London; so Sir James is no longer a direct factor in the

problem."

"Who was the other man with a key?"

"The senior clerk and draughtsman, Mr. Sidney Johnson. He is a

man of forty, married, with five children. He is a silent,

morose man, but he has, on the whole, an excellent record in the

public service. He is unpopular with his colleagues, but a hard

worker. According to his own account, corroborated only by the

word of his wife, he was at home the whole of Monday evening

after office hours, and his key has never left the watch-chain

upon which it hangs."

"Tell us about Cadogan West."

"He has been ten years in the service and has done good work. He

has the reputation of being hot-headed and imperious, but a

straight, honest man. We have nothing against him. He was next

Sidney Johnson in the office. His duties brought him into daily,

personal contact with the plans. No one else had the handling of

them."

"Who locked up the plans that night?"

"Mr. Sidney Johnson, the senior clerk."

"Well, it is surely perfectly clear who took them away. They are

actually found upon the person of this junior clerk, Cadogan

West. That seems final, does it not?"

"It does, Sherlock, and yet it leaves so much unexplained. In

the first place, why did he take them?"

"I presume they were of value?"

"He could have got several thousands for them very easily."

"Can you suggest any possible motive for taking the papers to

London except to sell them?"

"No, I cannot."

"Then we must take that as our working hypothesis. Young West

took the papers. Now this could only be done by having a false

key--"

"Several false keys. He had to open the building and the room."

"He had, then, several false keys. He took the papers to London

to sell the secret, intending, no doubt, to have the plans

themselves back in the safe next morning before they were missed.

While in London on this treasonable mission he met his end."

"How?"

"We will suppose that he was travelling back to Woolwich when he

was killed and thrown out of the compartment."

"Aldgate, where the body was found, is considerably past the

station London Bridge, which would be his route to Woolwich."

"Many circumstances could be imagined under which he would pass

London Bridge. There was someone in the carriage, for example,

with whom he was having an absorbing interview. This interview

led to a violent scene in which he lost his life. Possibly he

tried to leave the carriage, fell out on the line, and so met his

end. The other closed the door. There was a thick fog, and

nothing could be seen."

"No better explanation can be given with our present knowledge;

and yet consider, Sherlock, how much you leave untouched. We

will suppose, for argument's sake, that young Cadogan West HAD

determined to convey these papers to London. He would naturally

have made an appointment with the foreign agent and kept his

evening clear. Instead of that he took two tickets for the

theatre, escorted his fiancee halfway there, and then suddenly

disappeared."

"A blind," said Lestrade, who had sat listening with some

impatience to the conversation.

"A very singular one. That is objection No. 1. Objection No. 2:

We will suppose that he reaches London and sees the foreign

agent. He must bring back the papers before morning or the loss

will be discovered. He took away ten. Only seven were in his

pocket. What had become of the other three? He certainly would

not leave them of his own free will. Then, again, where is the

price of his treason? Once would have expected to find a large

sum of money in his pocket."

"It seems to me perfectly clear," said Lestrade. "I have no

doubt at all as to what occurred. He took the papers to sell

them. He saw the agent. They could not agree as to price. He

started home again, but the agent went with him. In the train

the agent murdered him, took the more essential papers, and threw

his body from the carriage. That would account for everything,

would it not?"

"Why had he no ticket?"

"The ticket would have shown which station was nearest the

agent's house. Therefore he took it from the murdered man's

pocket."

"Good, Lestrade, very good," said Holmes. "Your theory holds

together. But if this is true, then the case is at an end. On

the one hand, the traitor is dead. On the other, the plans of

the Bruce-Partington submarine are presumably already on the

Continent. What is there for us to do?"

"To act, Sherlock--to act!" cried Mycroft, springing to his feet.

"All my instincts are against this explanation. Use your powers!

Go to the scene of the crime! See the people concerned! Leave

no stone unturned! In all your career you have never had so

great a chance of serving your country."

"Well, well!" said Holmes, shrugging his shoulders. "Come,

Watson! And you, Lestrade, could you favour us with your company

for an hour or two? We will begin our investigation by a visit

to Aldgate Station. Good-bye, Mycroft. I shall let you have a

report before evening, but I warn you in advance that you have

little to expect."

An hour later Holmes, Lestrade and I stood upon the Underground

railroad at the point where it emerges from the tunnel

immediately before Aldgate Station. A courteous red-faced old

gentleman represented the railway company.

"This is where the young man's body lay," said he, indicating a

spot about three feet from the metals. "It could not have fallen

from above, for these, as you see, are all blank walls.

Therefore, it could only have come from a train, and that train,

so far as we can trace it, must have passed about midnight on

Monday."

"Have the carriages been examined for any sign of violence?"

"There are no such signs, and no ticket has been found."

"No record of a door being found open?"

"None."

"We have had some fresh evidence this morning," said Lestrade.

"A passenger who passed Aldgate in an ordinary Metropolitan train

about 11:40 on Monday night declares that he heard a heavy thud,

as of a body striking the line, just before the train reached the

station. There was dense fog, however, and nothing could be

seen. He made no report of it at the time. Why, whatever is the

matter with Mr. Holmes?"

My friend was standing with an expression of strained intensity

upon his face, staring at the railway metals where they curved

out of the tunnel. Aldgate is a junction, and there was a

network of points. On these his eager, questioning eyes were

fixed, and I saw on his keen, alert face that tightening of the

lips, that quiver of the nostrils, and concentration of the

heavy, tufted brows which I knew so well.

"Points," he muttered; "the points."

"What of it? What do you mean?"

"I suppose there are no great number of points on a system such

as this?"

"No; they are very few."

"And a curve, too. Points, and a curve. By Jove! if it were

only so."

"What is it, Mr. Holmes? Have you a clue?"

"An idea--an indication, no more. But the case certainly grows

in interest. Unique, perfectly unique, and yet why not? I do

not see any indications of bleeding on the line."

"There were hardly any."

"But I understand that there was a considerable wound."

"The bone was crushed, but there was no great external injury."

"And yet one would have expected some bleeding. Would it be

possible for me to inspect the train which contained the

passenger who heard the thud of a fall in the fog?"

"I fear not, Mr. Holmes. The train has been broken up before

now, and the carriages redistributed."

"I can assure you, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade, "that every

carriage has been carefully examined. I saw to it myself."

It was one of my friend's most obvious weaknesses that he was

impatient with less alert intelligences than his own.

"Very likely," said he, turning away. "As it happens, it was not

the carriages which I desired to examine. Watson, we have done

all we can here. We need not trouble you any further, Mr.

Lestrade. I think our investigations must now carry us to

Woolwich."

At London Bridge, Holmes wrote a telegram to his brother, which

he handed to me before dispatching it. It ran thus:

See some light in the darkness, but it may possibly flicker out.

Meanwhile, please send by messenger, to await return at Baker

Street, a complete list of all foreign spies or international

agents known to be in England, with full address.

Sherlock.

"That should be helpful, Watson," he remarked as we took our

seats in the Woolwich train. "We certainly owe Brother Mycroft a

debt for having introduced us to what promises to be a really

very remarkable case."

His eager face still wore that expression of intense and high-

strung energy, which showed me that some novel and suggestive

circumstance had opened up a stimulating line of thought. See

the foxhound with hanging ears and drooping tail as it lolls

about the kennels, and compare it with the same hound as, with

gleaming eyes and straining muscles, it runs upon a breast-high

scent--such was the change in Holmes since the morning. He was a

different man from the limp and lounging figure in the mouse-

coloured dressing-gown who had prowled so restlessly only a few

hours before round the fog-girt room.

"There is material here. There is scope," said he. "I am dull

indeed not to have understood its possibilities."

"Even now they are dark to me."

"The end is dark to me also, but I have hold of one idea which

may lead us far. The man met his death elsewhere, and his body

was on the ROOF of a carriage."

"On the roof!"

"Remarkable, is it not? But consider the facts. Is it a

coincidence that it is found at the very point where the train

pitches and sways as it comes round on the points? Is not that

the place where an object upon the roof might be expected to fall

off? The points would affect no object inside the train. Either

the body fell from the roof, or a very curious coincidence has

occurred. But now consider the question of the blood. Of

course, there was no bleeding on the line if the body had bled

elsewhere. Each fact is suggestive in itself. Together they

have a cumulative force."

"And the ticket, too!" I cried.

"Exactly. We could not explain the absence of a ticket. This

would explain it. Everything fits together."

"But suppose it were so, we are still as far as ever from

unravelling the mystery of his death. Indeed, it becomes not

simpler but stranger."

"Perhaps," said Holmes, thoughtfully, "perhaps." He relapsed

into a silent reverie, which lasted until the slow train drew up

at last in Woolwich Station. There he called a cab and drew

Mycroft's paper from his pocket.

"We have quite a little round of afternoon calls to make," said

he. "I think that Sir James Walter claims our first attention."

The house of the famous official was a fine villa with green

lawns stretching down to the Thames. As we reached it the fog

was lifting, and a thin, watery sunshine was breaking through. A

butler answered our ring.

"Sir James, sir!" said he with solemn face. "Sir James died this

morning."

"Good heavens!" cried Holmes in amazement. "How did he die?"

"Perhaps you would care to step in, sir, and see his brother,

Colonel Valentine?"

"Yes, we had best do so."

We were ushered into a dim-lit drawing-room, where an instant

later we were joined by a very tall, handsome, light-beared man

of fifty, the younger brother of the dead scientist. His wild

eyes, stained cheeks, and unkempt hair all spoke of the sudden

blow which had fallen upon the household. He was hardly

articulate as he spoke of it.

"It was this horrible scandal," said he. "My brother, Sir James,

was a man of very sensitive honour, and he could not survive such

an affair. It broke his heart. He was always so proud of the

efficiency of his department, and this was a crushing blow."

"We had hoped that he might have given us some indications which

would have helped us to clear the matter up."

"I assure you that it was all a mystery to him as it is to you

and to all of us. He had already put all his knowledge at the

disposal of the police. Naturally he had no doubt that Cadogan

West was guilty. But all the rest was inconceivable."

"You cannot throw any new light upon the affair?"

"I know nothing myself save what I have read or heard. I have no

desire to be discourteous, but you can understand, Mr. Holmes,

that we are much disturbed at present, and I must ask you to